Holding Fingers
by haerae
Summary: A collection of moments throughout Sam and Freddie's unlikely yet completely stable relationship, written in sweet-or bittersweet-little ficlets.
1. Set 01: needs & wants

**A/N: **

_I am absolutely in love with the Seddie pairing on iCarly. I think it's just because Sam and Freddie have the potential to be such complex characters. I love the development of their relationship, and when they finally kissed. . . it was unreal. But anyway, this is my first fanfic on and it's through a sudden inspiration to write a bunch of moments of Sam and Freddie's relationship while still trying to keep their personalities as real to the show as possible._

_Holding Fingers will explore both Sam and Freddie's lives together from the time they decided to be a couple and beyond. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them.3_

_-Raeven_

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><p>HOLDING FINGERS<p>

**01: needs;**

There isn't a time where Sam looks like she needs something; someone like Sam never looks like she ever _needs _anything. She may say she needs that bacon strip belt she saw at the mall, or that whole ham in the grocery store deli, but Freddie knows what needs are, and he knows her saying "I need" only means "I want". But he likes to believe she needs him to hold her against his chest sometimes, to encase her hands in his and kiss her neck while she closes her eyes and just savors it all. Alot of times, he envies her exterior of strength and stabilty. She does it so well.

But this _i need you_. . . this three word text he's staring at, is blaring in front of his eyes, as real as ever. . . and it scares him.

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><p><strong>02: wants; <strong>

Freddie stands by the couch in the empty studio of Sam's mom's place where Sam is, her lax body under some thinning mix-matched blankets. She's laying there with her legs slung every-which-way on the loveseat, her arm covering her eyes. Her lips read nothing; she's straight-faced, but Freddie knows she's uncomfortable, even as her body looks as if it can melt right into the distressed cushioning of the couch.

"I just wanted you here," She says to Freddie for the third time that night.

"But your text specifically said 'I need you'," Freddie says. He actually sounds frustrated. Probably because Sam looks perfectly fine where she is, according to her own circumstances, that is. She doesn't move her arm from her eyes because he still doesn't get it. At times like these, she achingly wishes guys just knew, preferably without having to say a word.

"I don't _need_ you, Freddie," Sam drawls, and she's glad her arm is covering most of her cheeks too because she can feel them flush with color, an involuntary blush heating her face. "I only texted you that to scare you into coming over, get it?"

It's been quiet for too long and Sam figures his feelings are hurt. She almost wants to punch him for thinking so hard, imagining him standing there in his newer pjs, those v-neck t-shirts he wears with some simple cotton pants, and how nicely his now matured body fills them. She doesn't move while she waits for him to say something and when he doesn't, she still doesn't move.

"Do I _need_ you to make me sandwiches?" She asks, her voice level with reasoning, and her only resort for lightening this growing tension that isn't intended to be there. She can almost swear she can hear the smile in Freddie's voice when he speaks.

"Maybe you do, I mean, I've seen you try to make-, "

"_Shut up_," Sam whines, but she manages to also make it a demand, something she has the ability to do. "Just come here,"

Freddie would like to feel like he has some choice in the matter, but he is obedient and fills the space in the crevice of the lumpy couch, where Sam readjusts herself, tucking her bare feet under the blankets more. Freddie tries to get comfortable, his arm resting at the base of Sam's head. He watches her.

"No covers for me?" He says. Sam just grunts and mumbles, twisting her body toward him, burrowing into his warmth. "Alright then," He comments quietly. His fingers lace through the spindly curls of her hair, surprised they haven't gotten caught in tangles, the way it looks. Warm pulses of Sam's breath seeps through his shirt.

He looks down at her and realizes she _does_ need him here, when he remembers the door being cracked ajar before he let himself in, and how empty and dark the apartment is right now as they lay in the middle of its open space, and how Sam's pink-rimmed eyes shows she'd been crying. His eyes soften and he uses his other arm to trail his fingers up and down Sam's back, almost holding her now, and he's grateful that Sam doesn't react negatively.

"Where's your mom?" He asks, attempting to sound completely conversational on this touchy subject.

Sam sounds breathy, sleepy when she says,"She went out." She doesn't want Freddie to hold weight to her answer, to get concerned over something she wouldn't have the patience to explain. She presses her face against his shirt, breaths in, and loves how solid he his. He won't be going anywhere. She's so glad he's here.

Freddie squirms against her; Sam can feel the question on his mind with a smirk. "And no, she won't be back tonight, don't worry. . . " She says, trailing off. The air turns serious. "In fact, she probably won't be back tomorrow either. Trust me."

"Mmm," Is all Freddie says. Sam doesn't speak any further. She's comfortable now and within minutes, she's dozing. Freddie hasn't stopped rubbing her back, but his rhythm slows as he looks up at the ceiling, uneased by the dark hidden meaning in her words, and just wanting to do something about it.

With her hand resting against his hipbone, loosely clutching the ends of his shirt, her face still pressed against his chest, Freddie is now certain. Sam Puckett-at least, for right now-needs him.


	2. Set 02: dominance & bacon custard

**A/N:**

_I'm sorry I haven't updated sooner than I wanted. I hope you haven't forgotten the story already haha! I don't want anyone to get any further confused with the way I've decided to go about this story, but I wasn't intending to make it follow a specific plot. In a sense, the story is going somewhere, because I want it to have at least some form of order, but I'm just writing each set based on a prompt I thought up in my head. _

_Thank you all for reading and reviewing so far! xDD I looooooove reviews. I love your feedback, so don't hold back, please! I wanna know what you have to say! 3 _

_-Raeven_

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><p><strong>03: dominance;<strong>

There's an hour to spare before iCarly airs for the evening. Carly is downstairs and for once since he and Sam became the complete opposite of enemies, Freddie feels unfortunate to be alone with Sam right now.

But that's only because Sam is heated; he isn't sure what a heated Sam will do now that they're together. The heated-Sam in the past would have him petrified in this situation. They've just undergone a wrestling match, and Freddie has won. This never happens. Both are on the ground after Freddie had very easily pinned Sam under him, her arms bolted to the plush purple rug under the bean bag corner of the room.

That high-pitched whirring from the bluescreen on Carly's flatscreen is the only noise in the room while Freddie's looking straight in the eyes of Sam's fiery ones (like he's trapped and can't look elsewhere); they're both out of breath and he doesn't know whether he should let her loose and run away until she cools off or to laugh the tension and the fear away.

So he just stays where he is, slightly amused, until Sam shows she's had enough. She starts by gritting her teeth. Her attempts at freeing herself only looks like she's wriggling underneath Freddie; it's utterly infuriating. A frenzied shout from her lips rattles Freddie's eardums, but he doesn't ease up on her.

"This is ridiculous, Benson!" She yells, still struggling to free herself. She can't even shove him out of her sight anymore. He's as sturdy as a rock these days.

"What is ridiculous, Sam?" Freddie asks with his lips quirked upward.

"Someone like you doesn't just go from noodle-arm boy to Popeye in thin air!" She quickly shoots back, her teeth close to his chin. That's how close they are, and if Freddie hadn't felt so smug, he would have cared more about his chin being bitten.

"I _do_ eat spinach," Freddie adds with a side smile that Sam unwillingly goes weak for. He wonders if he can flex his arm while keeping Sam restrained, tries, and fails before Sam is able to see it. In the next second, he's rolling onto his back, curling into himself, and mentally screaming in his mind for not protecting the very prized parts of the male.

He hears Sam storm across the room but he's too busy trying not to cry like a baby while his lower region burns like hot fire.

"Stop making all that noise," Sam says. She sounds more irritated then morose, but it's definitely there. "I know I can't hurt you anymore,"

"God, Sam-that _did _hurt!" He manages, surprised his voice has surpassed a squeak. He keeps his eyes closed because he's still seeing spots. Right now, he would love for Sam to forget her pride and maybe pet his hair and rub his back, but that would be asking too much.

Sam lingers by the elevator, tapping her worn leather boots on Carly's wooden floor. "I don't believe you," She says, training her eyes to the ground for a hanging moment.

She won't admit it aloud, unless Freddie specifically points it out, but her dominance was threatened by this simple game. Sam has always had dominance.

The elevator takes her downstairs and Freddie chuckles weakly to himself. He can't believe he's thinking this, but he finds Sam's pouting over not being able to "hurt" him anymore kind of cute. _This definitely hurts, though_, he thinks with a wince.

He turns to cover his face on the plush rug, as if someone is there to see him smile, and he realizes he's hopelessly into this hurricane of a girl.

Carly comes back up with some jump ropes and a pitcher of green Kool-Aid. She stands over Freddie, who hasn't moved for a half hour now. "Freddie," She says through a questioning laugh. He sleepily opens his eyes, accepts her hand to help him up ("Carefully, please", he adds).

"Sam beat me up," he says. _Yes, Sam would have liked to hear that._

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><p><strong>04: bacon custard;<strong>

Freddie takes Sam out that same day because Sam is still moody and he hopes she'll appreciate this bacon-infused gelato he's discovered at this new gelato fusion place in the heart of Seattle.

They're sitting outside, on a stone ledge above some neatly-trimmed greenery next to the shop. Sam wordlessly demolishes her ice cream, deep in thought, and finishes the hand-made waffle cone in a matter of two minutes, not even. Freddie's frugal self already feels like this trip was a sacrifice from his wallet, so he has to say something.

"You ate that in like, 2 seconds."

"And?"

"Wouldn't it have been more enjoyable if you savored it?"

"I savored it,"

"You _wolfed_ it, you didn't savor it. Did it even taste like anything going down?" He asks, thinking of that $3 "signature waffle cone" on top of the _one_ scoop of gelato for $4.25. And he had to buy two of them, so Sam wouldn't question his cheapness for not getting himself one.

Sam bites on her bottom lip and slaps the side of his head. "It was good, you _nimwad_!"

Freddie recovers fast. He sighs, realizing he's killing a mood that was perfectly fine until he tampered with it. "You're right. You wouldn't wolf down anything unless you liked it, huh,"

"Exactly,"

He watches her. The sun has made everything on her golden. Her hair is perfectly messy, ruggedly beautiful, catching light at the ends of each strand like an intensifying bulb. The rich gelato is glistening on the side of her upper lip and Freddie's cheek twitches upward. His eyes fix on her contentedness, at her half-buttoned red plaid shirt and khaki vest, holed skinny jeans and leather boots, at her legs as they kick absently against the ledge they're sitting on. She goes to lick her fingers when she looks up and notices him staring.

"What?"

"You have-" He gestures to her lips with his thumb. Before he's even showing her where it is on her lips, he's leaning there, kissing the custard off. He licks his own lips and leans back a little, his other hand next to her knee, keeping him in his invasion of her personal space.

Sam doesn't move. Her blue eyes catch the light as if a spark of excitement has run through her, but her expression only shows slight surprise while inside, she's reeling from Freddie's successful attempt at sexiness. "Mmm, that was actually really good," Freddie murmurs honestly at the bacon flavor on his tongue with a glint in his eyes.

"Bacon's the best," Sam says with triumph and truth to her voice, with a genuine grin that Freddie is pleased to see. When his fingers have cupped her chin to pull in for another, Sam realizes how quickly he's altered her mood. Feeling out of her own control, she pulls back and eyes him warily. "Stop that."

Freddie's eyebrows are furrowed, but he's still feeling smooth, so he tries to figure out her conflicted expression with a steady glance, and then he smirks. "This is about that dominance thing, isn't it?" He's leaning toward her again, closing in the space between them. Sam is fixated on his face, at the fullness, the color of his lips, through long and heavy eyelashes.

"Yeah." She admits automatically.

Their noses almost touch.

"I can't be dominant?"

"No," Sam breathes, but she can't even stay sure of her answer, because this kind of dominance isn't half bad. She just doesn't want to admit that. "Sometimes." She resigns, changing her answer and inclining her lips toward his, allowing him the initiative to kiss her first. This sends him in a full-on flush of giddyness; _Sam is actually allowing herself to be a girl today_, he's thinking happily.

A few hungry, sweet bacon-laced kisses later and Freddie has acheived an arm snaked around her back while her legs are slung across his lap and her arms are hung loosely around his neck. Passerbys start looking their way and while Sam likes the idea of PDA, Freddie has always felt less comfortable, but even he can't find it in him to stop what they're sharing right now.

He isn't sure when the roles have suddenly switched, how Sam has taken control, how he's the one left breathless, but when he's marginally aware, Sam has a fist full of the front of his v-neck shirt, her arm still around his neck. A lingering draw from his lips and she pulls back with half-lidded eyes that sparkle with. . . dominance. "Now go buy momma another."


	3. Set 03: pennytees & sedric

**A/N: **

_Happy New Years, guys! It feels so nice to say it's 2012 (ignoring the whole world end business). This update has nothing to do with New Years, but I figure this will be the first productive thing I've done this year. I hope you had a blast on New Years Eve!_

_-Raeven_

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><p><strong>05: penny-tees;<strong>

Freddie's wearing a penny tee to school, which isn't the peculiar part of the picture. Penny tees have been a good 65% of Sam, Freddie, and Carly's wardrobe since iCarly began. What makes Sam stare incredulously at Freddie this morning in the halls is what's _on_ this brand new purple penny tee he's sporting proudly in front of her. In fact, she's been watching him since he had walked into the building, eyeing his fellow classmates as if telepathically forcing them to look at the words on his shirt.

_Sam's_

_Freddie_

That's what it says. Sam claws her nails into the straps of her worn leather book bag. Freddie just looks like he wants to give her a hello kiss, like he doesn't know what he's doing. Or worse, he _knows_, because it bothers her. But of course, that is only Sam's twisted reasoning.

"What is that mess-what_ is _that _mess_!"

"What are you talking about?" Freddie asks, but he's looking all warm and fuzzy today, biting his lip and feeling smug. He knows exactly what she's talking about.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Sam says, reading him like the words are written in Sharpie on his forehead. "You do this to torture me!" She already has a fist full of his shirt. That's when Freddie's face falls and his eyes widen in alarm. Now he has something to worry about. Sam is lifting his shirt; he can't stand for this.

"H-hey-hey, hey! Remember where we are!" Freddie says, after he finds her forceful hands working up the inside of his shirt. He has her wrists before there's enough of his skin exposed for anyone to notice and he's giving Sam a careful warning with his eyes. Sam only blinks at him. In the next moment, he can dreadfully expect her to resume her ruthlessness. Freddie knows full well that Sam doesn't care about, well, a lot of things. The least of her concerns would be if he has to go to class shirtless after she pulled off and kept the shirt she will probably burn later.

Freddie realizes he can't win this one. She doesn't like the shirt and she's determined to get him out of it. He's still clutching her wrists to immobolize her temporarily, but it doesn't keep her from wriggling violently against him. She stares up at him dangerously as they inch across lockers, battling strengths, until Freddie finally feels he has an upper hand in all this and pulls them both into a cramped janitor closet. He shuts the door behind him. Sam huffs loudly. Her breath wisps against Freddie's neck. She's irritated but even now, Freddie can't take his mind off of the scenario they're in right now: being pressed against the wall of a small and dark closet, hands entangled with Sam's wrists (they almost look like they're holding each other, or at least it _feels_ that way), and Sam wants his shirt off.

Freddie swallows thickly. He isn't having clean thoughts. He thinks for a second that he can distract himself with the fact that they both will be late for homeroom, but it doesn't work. He stops fighting her, slowly leans forward, and tenderly brushes his lips across hers, experimenting. She pushes away a little, but he doesn't care, smashing his lips against hers, letting go of her wrists to slip his fingers into the beltloops of Sam's jeans. He moves her gingerly against the wall where her head hits the hard bristles of a broom.

"Mmm, sorry," Freddie manages between their lips, with no intention of stopping. Sam has her hand on his chest. She feels the taunting letters on his shirt.

"Freddie, this isn't going to-,"

"I know, I know Sam-just shut up. . .please." Freddie begs quietly between kisses. Taken aback, Sam can't bring herself to protest, letting him have his way. Her mind reels at how unresistable he can be; he's been surprising her with this behavior for the past few weeks and she can't seem to keep up.

It isn't long before the air becomes humid in the small space. Freddie's skin starts tasting salty against Sam's tongue; his hair is dampening and curling at the roots. When they finally break apart, they're both panting heavily. Sam rests her clammy forehead on Freddie's shoulder and sighs.

"Why'd you have to wear that shirt?" She asks wearily. Freddie's rubbing his thumb at the tip of one of Sam's fingers.

"Maybe I was thinking about you. Maybe I just wanted to show you I'm perfectly fine with letting others know what we are."

"But I'm not. Not at school at least,"

"You don't seem to mind when you're doing iCarly,"

"I'm fine with showing what we have on iCarly, Freddie. I just don't like showing it at school,"

"Ahh, I see, because our school's _totally_ bigger than the universe," Freddie says with a roll of his eyes, squeezing Sam's hand. Sam makes her hand go limp in his, until there's only her fingers to hold. He lifts her chin, gives her a short tender kiss, and holds his gaze with her until he's sure she can see his understanding eyes in the darkness. When she smiles, he smirks.

"So. . . you wanted to take my shirt off, huh?" Freddie whispers in her ear. Sam sucks her teeth-holding back a snicker-and pushes Freddie away from her so she can make her way to the door. Freddie playfully gets in her way.

"Says the nub who hid us in this smelly janitor closet before anything could be seen." Sam comments effortlessly. She gropes the side of his abdomen. "Whatcha hidin' under there anyway? Some new flab?"

Freddie grins. "You know what's under there." He says proudly. Yeah, she knew: a well-toned six pack was under there, the product of healthy doses of exercise. Sam doesn't reply. Her hands brusquely tighten around Freddie's shirt again. With a yank upward, Freddie's breath hitches loudly and he braces himself stiffly against the door.

"C-come on, Sam, stop-I didn't bring another shirt to change into,"

"You should think about those things, Benson,"

"I know, but I didn't okay?"

"You got a better plan then?"

"How about I make everyone think you beat me up in the closet," Freddie says, looking down at Sam with a clever spark in his eyes. "That way no one will guess what we were _really_ doing in here."

Sam nods her head, considering the idea. She gets on the tips of her toes to level with Freddie. "I like that," She kisses him, pulls away to bite his lip. "You're smart, nublet."

Freddie gives her a peck on the lips as they lean more of their weight on the door. "And one more thing," Sam says firmly with her index finger in front of Freddie's face. He waits for her demand in silence, in which Sam leans toward his ear and says, "Stop wearing abominations to school."

"I'll try," He says through a grin, thoroughly humored. He pushes backward on the door and pretends to stumble out. Holding his side, he limps out of the closet while dragging his backpack behind him. He's exaggerating the act in Sam's opinion, but as she brushes past him and ruffles his hair, it is clear she appreciates his effort.

_Yep, we're late for homeroom, _she thinks, shoving her hands in her pockets. The halls are pretty much empty now; not enough people could have created enough gossip on Sam and Freddie in those past few minutes to mean anything, but Sam is highly pleased with the idea that she has involved herself in something scandalous.

"You're such a good boy." She says to Freddie, turning the corner to their homeroom and leaving her boyfriend behind.

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you." Freddie mutters with a hushed snicker. Sam chooses to ignore that one.

* * *

><p><strong>06: Sedric<strong>;

Freddie and Carly were confused when Sam laughed to herself after a fan cried "Seddie!" over a live feed on iCarly one night. It was belated and creepy and Freddie wished he could edit it out of the show but he couldn't because iCarly has always been live. This morning sheds light on the matter when Sam approaches Freddie in school, standing right in front of the door of his opened locker so he'll see her clearly when he closes it.

Freddie closes his locker and his eyes meet gracefully on Sam's before they fall on the loudness of her new penny tee-yellow on black, which compells his mind to think of something bold and cautionary. "Sedric" is what it says and Sam is wearing it proudly in front of him. Her chin's held high. She's waiting for him to say something.

It takes a second for everything to connect and then Freddie's saying "ahhhh," and crooning "that's cute, I like that!" and then wrapping his arms around her waist before he realizes what he's doing and respectively detaches himself from her. Sam tries to pass the awkward moment away by moving some hair out of her face and pretending to find something out of her book bag. She sneaks a few looks around to see if anyone has seen them.

"You're such a girl." She mumbles when she figures the coast is clear. Freddie bounces on the heels of his feet, watching her. "Why do you like the shirt anyway?"

"I like it because you're trying to be discreet about us and your shirt is not discreet. It's ironic, clever." Freddie answers honestly.

"Thank ya, babe." Sam says. She goes to open her locker for an excuse to busy herself with something. "Mama's all about being clever."

"You make one for me?"

_Why would I do that?_ Sam thinks, making a face as she fishes through her messy locker. "Sorry, nub. I don't mass-produce my personal works." She settles with a notebook she may need for doodling through grueling lectures and turns around to face Freddie. His eyebrows are knit together in genuine disappointment. Given the situation at hand, Sam holds in the urge to express how adorable he's looking today. He's done something to his hair, slicked it back-and he's wearing a forest green polo that fits him in all the right places. She finds that it's taking quite a lot of willpower not to say anything more to him.

But then he stiffens, less like he's trying not to do something and more like he's about to start something. She watches his eyes, his lips as one side curls slowly upward. "You know what," he says. "I don't think I like your shirt anymore,"

His hands shoot to the ends of her penny-tee and he yanks at it playfully. He's modest about it, showing none of Sam's skin, but Sam catches on quick. They both hold back laughter at their new inside joke and this time Sam is the one to push them both into the janitor closet. They will be late for homeroom again.

A week later, Sam is wearing her "Sedric" shirt again. She and Carly enter the school building together and meet Freddie at their lockers only to find that Freddie is wearing his "abomination".

Carly fears a position as mediator nearing so she retreats with a quick "I'll see you two in class," and disappears to homeroom. But Sam is the opposite of Carly's expectations this morning. Oddly enough, Sam is feeling neutral. She and Freddie hold gazes at each other until Sam is a couple of feet away from him.

"You're still wearing the shirt." She says, which sounds more like "you've disobeyed my orders". Freddie inches closer.

"And so are you." He says.

"I like my shirt." Sam says. She casually pulls a Sharpie out of her bookbag and flicks the cap off. Leaning forward, she concentrates on drawing a proportionate "P" in between the "S" and "A" of her name on his t-shirt. Then she smiles at her work. "There, 'Spam's Freddie'. Makes me hungry."

"And I _liked _mine."

"Well chizz, now it's more 'discreet', like mine."

"You're right," Freddie agrees. Then he frowns. "But I still don't like yours."

They exchange looks. Before long, they're play-wrestling to the janitor closet.


End file.
